Silent Angel
by R.S. Valentine
Summary: Boy I've had this one awhile...Just now submitting it...I'm a loser who can't finish anything.
1. Family Ties

Silent Angel

The day at work had been a normal one; it was only part time after all. _As if pencil pushing could be called a 'job'. _Shaking his head, he climbed behind the wheel of a large black Cadillac, something most _legitimate _pencil pushers could never afford. Chuckling to himself at the irony of the situation, he closed the door and buckled himself in. His next destination, home in the welcoming suburbs. Home meant his wife, Wilhelmina. _There's a name you don't see everyday. _Then again, 'Shelby' was another odd one, so he supposed they were made for each other. Home also meant little Zack, the Falkners' pride and joy. Sweet little Zack was an angel of a child. No babysitter had ever complained about him and his grandparents practically begged the couple to let them borrow him nearly every weekend. Zack's ninth birthday had just recently passed and already he had reached four feet and three inches. Shelby could imagine the genuine glee on the child's rounded face as his Daddy would pull into the driveway at around five o' clock each weekday. The boy would dutifully stand off to the side, so as not to worry Mama, when Daddy pulled in. As soon as the car was in the garage of the modest, single story ranch-style house, little Zack would rush over and help Daddy with anything and everything his unusually deft hands could manage to lay themselves upon. He would scuttle in the house ahead of his father and put everything away that he could reach, which was quite a bit. Daddy would kiss Mama and Zack would cover his eyes, mostly, and go 'eeeew!'. Zack had sparkling blue eyes, just like his mother and they would search his Daddy's person all over for hints of the candy bar that he always brought home, without fail. Depending on where Shelby stopped after work, Zack might get a Baby Ruth or a Butterfinger, or some such nonsense, but always something good.

"You and your father have the same taste in chocolate," Wilhelmina said in mock exasperation, "And the same style when you eat it."

Indeed, both father and son were seated at the table, sharing a Snickers with little hairs of caramel caught up on their chins.

"Lookit that 'Mina," Shelby exclaimed gleefully, his rumbling bass of a voice laced with amusement, "Your son's got a soul patch."

She looked to Zack, who did indeed have a splotch of chocolate just under his lip in a line. The child's face was smeared with not only chocolate but a large grin. Wilhelmina sighed and shook her head.

"What AM I going to do with you two?"

Shelby pushed long blonde hair behind one ear and stood from the table.

"I think I'll catch a shower, Chief," he said, addressing his son, "If that's alright with the lady?"

His wife nodded, "Dinner will be along in about a half hour."

He kissed her once more and headed to the other end of the house, to the master bedroom. Once their, he slid his coat off and laid it on the bed, stretching. He began unbuttoning his shirt and loosening his tie. This routine was one he and his wife had performed for nearly eleven years and it worked for them. They were an ordinary family in an ordinary suburban setting, for the most part, that is. He looked in the full body mirror they had in their room and examined his bare upper body. The skin was relatively pale and rather sculpted. This was not a balding man in his thirties with love-handles, as so many of his coworkers were. He was spry and young and at thirty-five he could out-lift, -run and -fox a vast majority of the University students…Jocks AND chess club nerds. _I have to be, for my line of work. _

There were several odd things about him, besides his fitness, though one was the reason FOR it. First, his hair…It was long, blonde and currently clipped back halfway up. 'Mina would often refer to him as 'Fabio'. She loved his hair, though and wouldn't have let him cut it if he wanted to, which he didn't.

Second of all, his not-so-normal occupation. The suburbs in which the Falkner family resided was situated about halfway between two large cities, the smaller of the two was the one in which he held his day occupation. The larger, and far more sinister was the sight for much gang activity and a prime place for mercenary work, which he also did. Not every night, of course, but a few nights a month, he would head north, to the large sinister-looking city, armed to the teeth and looking for work. The freelancing there provided money for the large black Cadillac and the diamond that graced his lovely wife's ring finger. When they had been married eleven years before, they were both young and he could barely afford a small, 'cheap' ring. The symbolism was enough for the two of them, of course, but Shelby always longed to give her something better. When he started out in the mercenary business, the money began flowing in. Wilhelmina had always known and always worried, but she kept a strong front for both Shelby and Zack.

Lastly, there was his 'sight'. Shelby could 'see' things that weren't there, at least, that's how he described it to his wife, who couldn't. Some things were frightening, visions of deaths that had taken place in a given area years before. Less frequently were the dreams, pictures of things that would, or might not, come to pass. He would wake up in a cold sweat and it would take 'Mina's soft singing to usher him back into the folds of sleep. Both Shelby and Wilhelmina had an inkling that their son also possessed the 'sight' but only Shelby could know the truth, which he didn't share, much to 'Mina's chagrin.

The shower's soft stream of hot water massaged out the stress of the day and prepared him for the action that night. There was a perk to the 'sight', more scientifically known as 'precognition' (though it could have also been called Telepathy or Extra Sensory Perception), for some reason, Shelby could function on little to no sleep for weeks on end. He cleaned up his hair and body in a skillfully short amount of time and was out of the shower, drying off by the time 'Mina called for dinner. He slipped into silk boxers (courtesy of 'Mina) and comfortable jeans, sliding a well-fitting black tank top over his head, shaking the remaining wetness out of his hair and pinning it back in one swift motion.

The table was all set up. _What a good boy. _Thanks to Zack, not a fork was out of place. His mother had taught him to set the table properly at a young age and the smart little tike had taken to it with avid intensity, as he did with everything. As it was, he was head of his class in third grade. Wilhelmina set out the chili in a big steamy vat, along with cheese and sour cream. Shelby seated himself next to his son at their round dining-room table and they bowed their heads dutifully to say grace.

"Dear Jesus," to whom the child always addressed his prayers, "Thank you for the food on the table and please keep Daddy safe."

Wilhelmina shot Shelby a look but his eyes were squeezed shut.

"Amen," Zack and his Daddy said in unison. 'Mina decided not to press the matter with the child in hearing distance and so the meal commenced. Zack told Daddy about his day at school and Daddy, in turn, told the child stories of his boss, 'evil prince Samuelson' they called him and of 'wicked queen Eldeen', the supervisor. Wilhelmina gave him disapproving looks and constantly reminded the child not to repeat anything Daddy said. Zack would give his dismissive 'yes Mama' and Shelby would continue.

Dinner finished about an hour later and Zack helped his father clear the table, sliding dishes in the washer and packaging food in Tupperware. The whole affair lasted a little over ten minutes with friendly and casual conversation springing up here and there, accompanied by 'Mina's blessed singing. When it was all said and done, it was roughly seven thirty and time for Zack to do his nightly reading time. He would curl up on the couch with a modest little novel cradled lovingly in his hands and read until eight. Wilhelmina retired to her soft chair and Shelby would begin packing 'something' in his car. Zack never asked, like a normal child…He would simply watch Daddy walk by where he sat with long cases and small ones, sometimes making multiple trips. Wilhelmina would observe the child's odd manner and her brows would furrow. _Does he have it too? _But for some reason or other, she couldn't bring herself to ask him and his father was quite skilled at evading her when he sensed she was going to mention it.

"I'm headed out hun'," Shelby said, entering the den. Wilhelmina stood and let herself be drawn into the strong arms of her husband. Zack set down his book and walked to them, hugging Daddy's waist.

"I love you Daddy. _Good luck._"

"I love you too," he replied, ruffling the child's hair, "Be good for Mama. _And thanks, kiddo._"

'Mina sensed that something passed between father and son that she did not hear and could not understand but she was loathe to express her concern, as it would dampen the mood. When the family separated, smiles were exchanged and each went back to his own post. Shelby headed to his car and slid into it, feeling the cool of the leather seat through his jeans.

"Time to go to work," he mumbled.


	2. The Job

Starting the car, he felt an approaching presence. In the garage door that connected to the house, his son appeared, his hand on the jamb. Shelby rolled down the window and leaned out.

"Whaddaya need, Chief? _Is it Mama?_"

"I just wanted to see you Daddy. _Yeah, Mama's actin' like she's gunna ask me._"

"Well, here I am. _Follow your instincts."_

"Uh huh. _I don't want her to worry…So I guess I won't tell…"_

"Hasta mañana mi hijo. _I don't think Mama will ask but if she does, don't lie."_

"What's that mean Daddy? _Yes sir."_

"Means I'll seeya tomorrow son…It's Spanish. _I'll be back, I promise."_

With that, the conversation ended and Zack retreated into the house as Shelby pulled out onto the street-lamp illuminated lane they lived on. He took off in the opposite direction he had come from mere hours before, his adrenaline beginning to flow. He had gotten the job three nights before and been paired up with another man who was rumored to be a legend in the underground. He couldn't wait to see what this guy could do. They said he looked about in his mid to late twenties. They _also _said that he regularly used a large sword as a weapon. _In a gang bust? That's amazing! _Oh yes, Shelby was pumped. Sometimes he hated the exhilaration he got from his job. He always promised 'Mina that he never killed, which was partially true. He refused to kill unnecessarily, preferring to render enemies unconscious instead. Apparently, his partner for the evening felt the same way. _Though I can't imagine how, using a sword. _

In his reverie, he nearly missed the exit on the highway to his destination. Quickly flicking on his blinker, he took the off ramp. The bar was just off to the right of the exit, in a back alley. _Go figure. _He pulled up a few hundred yards off and exited, locking the vehicle and sliding the keys into his back pocket. The bar in question was an all-nighter, tucked back out of sight from prying eyes. He made his way to said alley and, sinking his hands into his pockets, ducked in the open door. This was one of those places that had a 'usual crowd'. It was a hub of activity for guys like himself. He looked over the heads of the patrons as he entered, using his unique ability to feel out the guy he was supposed to be with. No one struck him as out-of-the-ordinary so he took a seat on the stool farthest from the door. The barkeep knew enough to not ask him if he wanted a drink and instead set a hot fudge sundae in front of him.

"Your taste reminds me of--," he was cut off by a yell from the door. Shelby's gaze snapped up and his senses went on high alert.

"Hey there boys!" a rather tall, lanky man shouted from the doorway. Even in the dim light of the bar, Shelby could see that this guy was the one. His long red jacket jingled as he walked in, hung with all sorts of silver trinkets. That wasn't all that jingled about the guy. On his back was a massive long sword and on his thighs, also clad in red, were two large pistols. One was longer than the other and made of a darker metal. What struck Shelby as extremely odd was the man's hair. _Stark white._

"You're the guy…" it was more of a statement than a question on Shelby's part.

"Who's askin'?" the man replied, in a not-unfriendly manner.

"Your partner," Shelby shot back, taking a mouthful of sundae. His green eyes sparkled in amusement as the barkeep set a strawberry sundae in front of the red-clad man.

"Name's Dante," through a mouthful of strawberries and whipped cream. Shelby offered a hand and Dante took it, shaking it heartily.

"Shelby Falkner."

_This guy can't be over thirty…But his hair._ He sensed an 'oldness' about the man that his looks did not betray. _If he's gunna tall me, he'll tell me._ Both turned to their respective ice cream treat and enjoyed it thoroughly before getting down to business.

"A'right buddy," Dante began, wiping his mouth, "I got the password for this one…But the job seemed big…So I asked for help."

"Password?" Shelby read a deep meaning behind that one but for the sake of privacy, decided not to tap into Dante's thoughts.

"I'll explain on the way…" Dante replied. _Expected that. _

"So, why me?" came the inevitable question out of Shelby's mouth. It was sort of a reflex so he just let it slip.

"Enzo, my agent, he knows people who know people…Blah blah blah," this statement was accompanied by Dante's hand pivoting back and forth on his wrist in a rather dismissive manner, "They recommended you."

"How flattering."

"Needless to say, this ain't your normal gig," the white-haired man said, almost conspiratorially.

"Then we should take off."

"Thinkin' the same thing."

The two men stood, paid for their 'meal', and headed out the door.

"Big sword there," Shelby commented. Dante chuckled.

"Her name's Rebellion."

They headed toward Shelby's car.

"I didn't get too many details…What'm I gunna need?"

"Silver bullets, crucifixes, garlic…The usual devil-hunting stuff," came the nonchalant reply. Shelby looked up. _Zombies don' need silver, what have I gotten into?_ Deep green eyes met icy blue ones and the two men stared each other down for a long minute.

"The password I mentioned earlier," Dante began, "It means the job needs a devil-hunter…Me. I assume you were recommended 'cause you have something' about ya…"

"How would they know?"

"Some of 'em consult psychics and…" he leaned close to Shelby's ear, "…from what I hear, you're packin' heat in that department."

Dante touched his own temple for emphasis.

"You know what I am then?" Shelby offered.

"I've heard it called Precognition…" Dante replied, "Yeah, I know…How 'bout me?"

"Do you mind…?"

"Go ahead."

Shelby reached out to Dante with his mind. The man's aura was sharp and hot, like fire…Almost spicy. It was nothing like a human, who was generally soft…Nothing like Wilhelmina.

"Demon?"

"Close."

He reached out again, feeling deeper. Within the burning, prickly aura there was a soft, gently warm glow…_Definitely human. Almost too human._ He pulled back and found himself on his knees, leaning against the car.

"Y'alright?" asked Dante, offering a gloved hand.

"Happens," Shelby replied, taking it. Dante pulled him up.

"Find anything?"

"You're human too…?"

"Half of me is," Dante chuckled, "It used to bother me…"

Shelby glanced at his watch. The two men took off silently into the city, each armed to the teeth. The blonde man knew the layout of the city quite well and he also knew the place they were heading for. It was the classic old-abandoned-warehouse-by-the-docks setup. Shelby figured it was a gangland drug bust, Dante told him otherwise.

"Zombies…" Shelby grunted.

"It's amazing how you pick up on this shit 'fore we even get within a block…Have you ever even dealt with nasties like this? How'd you pick 'em up?"

"Not this many…They feel dead."

Shelby reached out with his mind again and Dante reached out to steady him. There were hundreds of bodies in the warehouse. They had no thought and they had no human life…No aura whatsoever. Deep in their core they each had a prick of Hellfire. It was like Dante's but weaker and dirtier.

"How many?"

"Couple hundred, at the least," Shelby mumbled.

"You need to sit down for a bit," Dante said. Shelby wasn't about to argue with Dante, who was bigger than he, and half demon. He sank to the concrete and held his head in his hands.

"Now I see why you don' drink," Dante commented, sitting next to him, "I gather that whole 'sight' thing is a hangover in and of itself."

Shelby nodded and massaged his temples.


End file.
